


As Long As It's You

by daphnerunning, Galiko



Category: Ensemble Stars! (Video Game)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Canon Compliant, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Intercrural Sex, M/M, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-15
Updated: 2017-05-15
Packaged: 2018-11-01 05:23:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10915203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daphnerunning/pseuds/daphnerunning, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Galiko/pseuds/Galiko
Summary: After Starmine, all Izumi wants to do is clean up his unit's laundry and go home. All Makoto wants to do is break down the A/V equipment. Neither of them expect to be trapped in the greenroom, or what comes to the surface between them.





	As Long As It's You

Exhaustion has a physical form, and it’s Sena Izumi—if one mixes in the post-performance jitters and endorphins that simply won’t _stop._

Abandoning the rest of the Knights’ plans for yakiniku—he can’t, not tonight, he’ll want to jump into the ocean afterwards—Izumi chooses to stay behind instead, sorting out the press, organizing and hanging costumes to be laundered the following day, with sweat still dripping down the back of his neck even this late at night. 

It’s easier than dealing with anything else right now, honestly. 

The door to the storage room clicks open behind him, and Izumi straightens with a jerk of his head, lips pursed, an irritated snap on his tongue to tell whatever photographer that’s come to bother him to _fuck off, already._ It isn’t a photographer, or even a stage hand, but instead, it’s Yuuki Makoto in the flesh, and Izumi’s mouth snaps shut, quickly looking away as he hangs up another coat. “You’re still here?” he mutters, trying not to sound cross, because he’s not. He’s just not ready to deal with _This_ right now. “It’s late, go home already.” 

The blood rushes to Makoto’s face, and he freezes in place for a moment, the wheels of his mind spinning aimlessly in place before clicking together. He starts breathing again, mind still whirling. _Izumi is here--he’s not supposed to be here?--Will he hurt me?--No, he’s better now, right?--Right?_

“I-I-Izumi-san,” he stammers, wringing his hands in front of him, shifting from foot to foot. “I’m, ah, just here to pack up our audio equipment. I’m kind of our tech person, you know...I mean, I’m not sure if you do know that?” _We don’t talk anymore, so..._

Izumi turns his head, watching Makoto out of the corner of his eye for a moment before he sighs, his shoulders heaving in a shrug. “Yeah, I know about it. Whatever, do what you’ve got to do, then. I guess you got ditched by your unit, too, huh.” Casual, he can be casual. He can pretend that nothing is different, or…better? He doesn’t even know. 

Makoto’s nervous almost-excitement fades, leaving him feeling oddly empty. He’d expected some reaction, whether it was Izumi’s usual manic affection or something more...sweet, perhaps. Disappointment burns warm in his stomach, but at least Izumi isn’t coming after him with a knife, or something. Maybe this is as good as he can hope for, in the future.

He kneels in front of the amps, starting to check switches and unplug cables. “I’m not even sure they know that these don’t just appear out of nowhere at every concert,” he jokes nervously. “I guess I’m the technology elves?”

_Don’t be weird, don’t be weird, don’t make a weird comment and don’t be fucking creepy, whatever you do._ “You’re cuter than anything like that,” Izumi blurts out anyway, and barely resists the urge to slap himself across the face. He swallows, irritated, and shoves his attention back into sorting and folding. “Sorry. Um. Everyone’s an idiot, yeah. They think this shit just happens, that there’s no work behind it.” 

“Izumi-san...works harder than anyone else,” Makoto says softly, coiling a cord around his hand. “Trickstar owes you a lot, for this live. I want to try...to be more reliable and hardworking in the future, just like you.”

Izumi feels his face start to burn, and he firmly refuses to look up. “You’re the one here and not ditching everything for yakiniku, so you’re already doing all right,” he mutters self-consciously. Anyone else praising him, and he’d bask in it—with Makoto, he doesn’t know _how_ to reply. “It’s a good start.”

A flush creeps into Makoto’s cheeks. Surprisingly, he’s more flattered by that comment than a thousand insistences that he’s cute, that he’s adorable, or that he’s sexy or whatever. “Ah...th-thank you. I’ll try to do my best. I’ll probably let you down, though...”

“Don’t be stupid. You’ve never—“

Right before he can be too blunt, too honest for comfort, the lights in the storage room abruptly click off. Izumi blinks, glancing upward at the ceiling and cut-off lights, then back to the door. The lock on it clicks and turns shut abruptly, and Izumi stares, only able to muster disbelief in his weariness. “Seriously?” he mutters, throwing down the shirt he was folding to stalk to the door, his boots clicking loudly across the floor. He grabs the door handle, trying to turn it, but it’s locked fast, and he exhales a hiss of frustration. “Oh, come _on._ ” 

“Don’t panic!” Makoto’s voice comes out a bit shrill, and he stumbles after Izumi, hands out in front of him. His breath catches on nerves, but he manages to breathe, only tripping a little and managing to catch himself before he reaches the wall, walking along it until he tentatively touches a part of firm cloth-covered muscle that feels like a shoulder. “Izumi-san...I didn’t tell anyone I was coming here. You did, right?”

Makoto is suddenly _very_ close to him. Izumi’s eyes struggle to focus in the dim light, and he fumbles for his cell phone, stuffed into his back pocket. “I mean, it should have been obvious, the laundry’s not going to do itself,” he huffs. The glowing light of his cellphone has to be temporary—low battery, less than 10%, uncharged before the live—and he swallows, stuffing his phone away again after firing off a single text to Arashi. At least someone should know that he’s locked in a storage room and probably going to die. “They must’ve thought we left already. Naru-kun’ll come back to help eventually, we’ve just…got to wait until then, I guess…” _You’re so close to me, that’s not fair._ Izumi tries not to tense and bristle, too nervous of what his reaction will reflexively be if Makoto touches him again. _Don’t cling, don’t be weird, don’t._

Makoto breathes out a sigh of relief, and is startled to feel Izumi’s hair rustle against his chin. With a start, he realizes that he’d touched the curve of Izumi’s other shoulder, and is nearly pressed up against him. 

Surprisingly, he doesn’t feel the instinct to jump back in fear. Maybe it’s because no one is watching them. Maybe it’s more that Izumi...feels different, feels more like his older self, feels, more than anything...

“Izumi-san,” he says softly, moving from subject to subject as fast as usual, his mind skipping a few explanations along the way. “You’re shorter than me now, aren’t you?”

Izumi’s mouth falls open, then shuts again as an incriminating little noise wells up in his throat. “D-d-don’t point things like that out,” he barely manages to sputter, his face hot as he shifts, and it becomes readily apparent just how trapped he is. Backed against a wall, Makoto pressed close to him, it’s almost like—“You’re—look, I know it’s dark, b-but you’re definitely kabedoning me.”

“Am I?” Makoto’s breath catches, and he shifts, adjusting his footing so he doesn’t fall down. He feels the warmth of Izumi’s body, and his breath syncs to Izumi’s, breathing out when Izumi breathes in. “Sorry. I was just thinking about the Live.”

Izumi swallows hard. It’s difficult to stay calm when Makoto is pressed _so_ close against him, their chests flush, Makoto’s breath sweeping by his ear, warm and surprisingly steady. He sucks in a shaky breath of his own, closing his eyes when they’re proving useless, anyway. “W…what about it?” he whispers, his fingers curling into his palms, his fists thudding uselessly back against the wall behind him. If he’s determined, he won’t touch, he _won’t_ scare Makoto away.

“About your smile.”

Makoto can hear his own heart beat. Or maybe that’s Izumi’s thunking wildly, so fast and hard Makoto’s ears can pick it up. His hand is sweaty against Izumi’s shoulder, the other sweaty against the wall, and he swallows hard. “You looked so happy when you were looking at just me. I can’t stop thinking about it? I don’t...understand.”

“What? Really?” No, that’s ridiculous, Makoto doesn’t know what he’s saying. He’s _always_ been an idiot about this kind of thing, not understanding, not paying attention to the obvious, and what he’d said on stage…that was just Makoto being oblivious, right? Not getting it as always, and _honestly_ , just… “D…don’t…you’re being stupid,” Izumi mumbles, turning his head aside as if that’ll help hide how hot his face is, or how fast his heart is beating. “Obviously I’m going to be happy when I’m looking at you. You’re Yuu-kun.” 

“But there’s nothing special about that person,” Makoto whispers. They’re the thoughts he usually tries to keep buried, but if no one can see him...that’s kind of like privacy, isn’t it? “How could someone like me...Someone as amazing as you has to be saying something else. Because there’s nothing about this person that you should look at, right?”

“Do you ever listen to yourself?” Izumi shifts, his fingers uncurling from his palms, his hands pressing flat back against the wall behind him. “Yuu-kun…I’ve told you a million times, but I’ll tell you again, because you’re awful and refuse to listen,” he murmurs, suddenly so intensely grateful for the darkness that it makes his toes curl. “It doesn’t matter what lies you keep trying to tell yourself about how you’re no good. I can see through it, I know you better than that.” 

“Wouldn’t it be better to be no good, though?” Makoto whispers. He shifts forward, suddenly urgent, grabbing Izumi’s shoulder hard. “You were good at everything, and they let you work yourself to death, don’t they? You’re--you’re supposed to have your whole life be ballet, and your whole life be modeling, and your whole life be Knights, and your whole life be school, and your whole life be with your family, but no one can do all that, can they? You kill yourself working to h-help other people, and they call you lazy--I hate it!” It’s the most aggressive thing he’s said in years, and if Izumi could see him, he’d probably laugh at the fervent conviction on his face.

“W…when did this become about me, we were talking about you!” Izumi protests. He can feel his skin prickle and tingle underneath Makoto’s fingers—worse, Makoto’s thumb skims against actual skin right over his collarbone, not just fabric, and Izumi gulps, feeling a drop of sweat slide down the back of his neck. “It’s not like that anymore—it’s…I’ve been taking a break from modeling, and ballet, and Knights is…what it is, and it’s fine.” _I wish I could kill myself_ is the wistful thought he swallows down, and Izumi adds, beyond desperate to end this train of thought, “What do you care, anyway? Be glad your enemy’s got a shitty reputation now, take advantage of it.” 

“Ah?” Makoto laughs nervously, and lets the pads of his fingers drag softly over the fabric of Izumi’s shirt. _Everything will change,_ his mind warns him, but it’s the part of his mind that knows exactly what Izumi is always talking about, the part that he doesn’t listen to very often. “You think I should take advantage of you, Izumi-san? Th-that’s how it sounds, you know...”

“That’s—what are you saying, I didn’t mean…” Izumi’s pulse thuds hard in his ears, his breath catching up in his throat. Embarrassingly enough, just that one touch of Makoto’s fingers lights _everything_ on fire, and he can feel how hard his nipples suddenly are, scraping mercilessly against the fabric of his shirt. _Stop it!_ he desperately scolds himself. “I meant…you know what I meant, don’t make me explain it again, be serious.” 

“Izumi-san, you sound...” 

Makoto had been about to say _nervous_ , but the little hitches and gasps coming out of Izumi don’t so much sound scared as they do... “You sound like something out of an Ero game,” he says softly, letting his hand scoot slightly to the side, just enough that the side of his thumb brushes against the bare skin of Izumi’s neck. Skin on skin feels electric, and he swallows hard again.

Izumi’s lips part, a weak little groan catching up in the back of his throat. His fingers curl helplessly back against the wall behind him, and the tremor that runs down his spine makes his knees wobble. “W-what would you know about something like that?” he barely manages to say, his eyes squeezing shut. Mind over matter is a delightful idea until his dick is suddenly _this_ hard. He shifts, trying to flatten himself further against the wall. “Yuu-kun…you..you can’t just…” 

“Izumi-san is good at telling me what to do,” Makoto says quietly. He steps forward again, close enough to feel each gust of Izumi’s breath against his cheek, his own warm, shallow, irregular. “So...if you want me to stop...it’s easy to say something like that, right?”

“I—“ 

Makoto’s right—it _would_ be incredibly easy to tell him to stop. The fact he could and simply _isn’t_ makes his mouth dry, and and Izumi swallows audibly, shutting his eyes again. “You…you don’t know what you’re doing,” he settles for instead, desperately trying for higher ground. “Yuu-kun, I…just because I’m like this, it doesn’t mean you have to…” 

Makoto’s hand moves almost before he tells it to, cupping Izumi’s face. It’s warmer than he’d expected. In his mind, Izumi is almost a statue, not a living, breathing person who trembles when he’s touched. “This is probably the first thing I’m doing because I just want to,” he breathes, bold in the dark, and leans forward to seal their mouths together.

_This is a dream_ is the first thing that comes to Izumi’s mind, for not the first time today. It has all the trappings of a dream—being locked in a room together, Makoto pressing so close to him that he can feel every breath—but Makoto’s mouth is so _warm_ against his own, and Izumi hears himself make a pathetic, breathy noise before his hands helplessly grab for handfuls of Makoto’s shirt, clinging to him to try and keep him close. 

Makoto will come to his senses soon enough, so Izumi takes what he can for now. His own, returned kiss is hungry, and every swipe of his tongue coaxes Makoto’s into his mouth so he can suck on it with a whimper leaving his throat. 

It probably shouldn’t be his first thought, but what occurs to Makoto before anything else is _I really am an idiot, aren’t I?_

It seems so obvious, now that Izumi is clinging to him, that this is what Izumi has always wanted. But honestly, now that Izumi _is_ clinging to him...who cares?

All that matters is that no one is yelling at him, no one is screaming, no one is disgusted or disappointed. Izumi is soft and pliant in his hands, and Makoto leans in, pressing Izumi body-to-body against the wall. The darkness isn’t scary, it’s comforting, keeping both of them away from the stupid ideas that always seem to keep them apart. He opens his mouth tentatively, letting his tongue delve into Izumi’s mouth, hands tightening on Izumi’s waist.

Izumi’s breath hiccups in his chest as he feels Makoto’s fingers curl around his waist, surprisingly sure, surprisingly steady. His own knees wobble in turn, and he feels his teeth graze against Makoto’s tongue. His toes curl as he sags back into the wall, pulling Makoto against him until he shifts, his breath hitching again when he feels his cock rub against Makoto’s hip. Izumi curses his own over-eager hormones, his cheeks hot as he tips his head back to catch his breath. “Sorry,” he whispers. “Yuu-kun, you’re just…”

“Kissing me is really that good?”

The words are soft as Makoto marvels, hands tightening even more when Izumi is so beautifully responsive to his touches. It makes him brave, spurs him on as he nips at Izumi’s bottom lip, not pulling back from the body-to-body contact. It doesn’t scare him as much as he’d thought it would, feeling the obvious proof of how much Izumi _wants_ him. In all honesty, it’s probably just that Izumi feels so small like this, shorter than him, waist slender in his hands. Hesitantly, he reaches up a hand, letting it brush over Izumi’s chest. “Izumi-san...you should...let me touch you.”

“O-okay.” It’s probably too fast of a reply to be cool, but Izumi isn’t exactly thinking with anything _but_ his dick right now. It aches, twitches when Makoto’s fingers ghost even remotely near his nipples, and Izumi’s lips part, a shuddering sigh escaping. “You can…you can do anything you want.” 

“Y-you...you like this...right, Izumi-san?”

It’s hard not to be his usual nervous self, even when Izumi is touching him so urgently, so sweetly. “It feels like you like it.” His hand splays out, thumbs stroking over the smooth muscles of Izumi’s chest, a bit envious of all that tone. “You’d be...pushing me away if you didn’t, right?”

_If I come just because Yuu-kun is vaguely touching my chest and very vaguely embarrassing me, I’ll die,_ Izumi thinks, and he rocks back onto his heels, slumping into the wall with a slow shudder. “I…” His gaze flicks down, try to follow Makoto’s hands in the dim light. His nipples ache, anticipating the touch, and he has to shut his eyes again. “I think…about you touching me all the time,” he manages hoarsely, his fingers curling so tightly into Makoto’s shirt that he hears his knuckles pop. “Please don’t stop, I’ll…” 

“Do you...like being touched like this?” Makoto whispers, eyes dilated in the darkness, watching Izumi’s breath come fast. “I’ve always wanted to do this to...”

He swallows, avoiding saying _to a girl_ , and kisses Izumi again, then lets his thumbs drag over Izumi’s nipples.

Izumi’s ragged gasp is lost against Makoto’s mouth, and he lurches forward, _trying_ not to seem too eager, but unable to help himself. Just that simple brush over his nipples goes immediately south, making his cock twitch, straining against the front of his trousers. They’re _already_ tight, and this makes it worse, making it hard not to lurch forward and grind against Makoto mindlessly. He can fill in the blanks— _you weren’t thinking about doing this to me, you wanted to do it to a pretty girl, I’m not stupid_ —but that doesn’t stop his dick from being hard. 

Hormones take over, and Makoto moves fast, that little gasp spurring him to shove Izumi hard against the wall, leaning in and kissing him hard. His body presses against Izumi’s in the dark, their breath mingling. His own cock strains at the front of his pants, and he shifts, rubbing against Izumi’s own cock, his breath coming faster. “Glad it was this way,” he groans, burying his face in Izumi’s neck. “With you. Ah, I’m being gross, but I can’t stop--”

Izumi’s gasp turns to a panting, rumbling groan in the back of his throat, and his hands drag down, grabbing handfuls of Makoto’s ass to drag him closer the _second_ he feels how hard Makoto’s cock is. It throbs against Izumi’s, hard and hot, and Izumi sags into the wall, letting Makoto press him hard against it, giving him every chance to rub against him. “I-it’s not gross,” he rasps, his eyes fluttering. “N-not to me. Ah, Y…Yuu-kun, that feels good…” 

“F-feels good to me, too,” Makoto gasps, biting down a low moan. He grinds a little helplessly, eyes closed, seeking more pleasure without thinking of where it’s coming from. If he pauses to think about how he’s in a dark room, grinding his cock against another guy--against the guy that he’s always wanted, but always wanted to escape from too--that would be enough to send him into panic. But like this, when everything is just hot and sweet and friction... “This is...good, right? Oniichan, I--”

_Fuck_ Izumi frantically thinks, which is the last thought he’s really able to _have_. His cock throbs, achingly, desperately hard, dripping already and dripping _more_ when Makoto calls out that name, and he comes with a breathy, bitten back whine, his face stuffed into Makoto’s hair, his fingers shakily grabbing into whatever part of Makoto he can manage to hold onto. His knees shake and wobble, threatening to give out when the mess he’s made immediately blooms hot and wet through his pants. 

Of all the emotions, it’s relief that courses most strongly through Makoto, making him shudder and gasp, realizing that Izumi _does_ like this, Izumi _does_ want to touch, Izumi _doesn’t_ hate him after all. His thighs tremble and shake as he leans forward, pressing Izumi into the wall, humping desperately against one toned thigh for a few frantic thrusts until he stills, chest heaving, warm wetness blooming in his pants. He grabs onto Izumi hard, holding him close as he shudders. His mouth winds up at Izumi’s ear, hot wet breaths panting out. “I...ahhh, Izumi-san, I wish I could look at you right now...”

_Onii-chan_ was nice for a moment, but now, it’s almost better that it’s just _Izumi-san_ again. If Makoto had called him that again, it would have been _far_ too much. “I’m glad you can’t,” he groans, his head thunking back against the wall. “My face right now is no good.” Izumi swallows, shifting on unsteady legs. “Yuu-kun, you came so _much_ , I can feel it…” 

“Eh? I think it’s a pretty normal amount? It’s normal for me...” Makoto reaches up, face very warm, and tucks a strand of hair behind Izumi’s ear. “When I’m _really_ turned on, at least. And Izumi-san is...so erotic.”

“Don’t say things like that,” Izumi mumbles, licking his lower lip nervously. “You—you don’t even like guys. I’m pretty sure.” _He just came on your leg, how straight can he be!_ his mind screams at him, but that’s…this isn’t usual, _none_ of it is.

Makoto shrugs awkwardly, pulling away a bit, tugging on the cuffs of his sleeves. “Sorry. I can...I guess I can’t leave, but I can sort of...walk over there...”

“No—no, Yuu-kun, you don’t…” Izumi exhales a frustrated breath, reaching out to grab blindly for Makoto’s hand. He succeeds, and nervously gives it a squeeze. “It’s…fine if I’m wrong about that. Or…maybe if I’m the exception? That’s actually better, then I don’t have to worry about other guys getting into your pants.”

Makoto’s laugh is nervous, but he lets Izumi squeeze his hand. “Eh, it doesn’t really...feel that way, to me? Ah, this might sound bad, but Izumi-san is the only guy I’ve ever...had dreams and stuff about. That’s probably saying too much, but...I figure you already think I’m a pervert, so...”

“Wait—wait, what? You’ve had dreams about me?” Izumi lurches forward from the wall, rejuvenated, his eyes wide and sparkling even in the darkness. “It’s fine if you’re a pervert, you can be a pervert with me all you want. That means you don’t hate me, right?” 

“Izumi-san.” Makoto squeezes, feeling Izumi’s hand warm and solid in his. “I told you. I never...I never hated you. I don’t think I could? But you--you do things that are so scary sometimes.” His voice is hushed and low, something secret between them. “I could never hate someone I l-like so much.”

Izumi’s heart thuds so hard that he can barely breathe for a moment, and he sucks in a slow breath through his nose, _trying_ to get a handle on himself before he says something stupid, or creepy, or anything that could scare Makoto away again. “I swear I’m not trying to scare you,” he finally manages, looking down at his feet. “I…you…sometimes, when you run away, I’m just so frustrated that I don’t know what to do.” 

A little flutter of the old anxiety creeps up in Makoto, and he shakes his head, raising his hand to touch Izumi’s face. “I need to stand up for myself more,” he says quietly. “You probably...had no choice, when I was acting so weak. But I’m going to, I’ll try a lot harder now. I’m...I’m growing up, I think. So you won’t--if I’m standing at your side, you won’t have to chase me.”

“…That right there? That was super manly,” Izumi says with a little laugh, leaning into the touch on his face when he’d normally screech about hand oils or something equally arbitrary. “Yuu-kun…I never thought you were weak.” 

Makoto laughs self-deprecatingly, shaking his head. “That’s very kind, but I don’t think it’s possible to pretend I’m not weak. Izumi-san has always seen the best in me, though...even when we were little.”

“So start listening to me for a change and take what I see at face value,” Izumi grumbles, squeezing Makoto’s hand once more before releasing it. “I _need_ to change or I’m going to go insane. I think there’s a few extra practice outfits that are clean, if you want me to snag something for you as well.” 

“S-sure!” Makoto realizes for the first time that they’ve been having such an emotional conversation while he’s wearing pants that are damp from their earlier activities, and his face blanches. “Ah! You must think I’m a total pervert!”

“Not really?” Izumi fishes out his phone from his back pocket—down to 7%, the bastard—and uses the light to find his way back across the room. He unfolds a couple of pairs of sweatpants, tossing one vaguely in Makoto’s direction. “Is it perverted if I liked it, too?” he mutters, feeling his face heat up again. He could stop blushing like a virgin at _any_ point, that would be _super_ helpful. 

“But--but Izumi-san is--” 

Makoto fumbles, and misses the catch, feeling around to pick the sweatpants up. He turns away to change, cheeks flaming, halfway expecting Izumi to run up behind him panting _Yuu-kun, Yuu-kun, show your cute changing butt to me_ or something. “Izumi-san is so mature about that kind of thing.”

“Maybe I’ve just thought about it a lot more.” It’s not a lie, but it probably comes off as super creepy, and Izumi winces even as he peels off his trousers, adds them to the laundry heap, and quickly changes. At least in the dark, Makoto can’t remark on what he looks like from the waist down. “But, anyway, yeah. I don’t think you’re perverted.” 

“I mean. I am, I guess,” Makoto admits, flushing as he pulls up his borrowed sweatpants. “You think that playing H-games is perverted, right?”

“I think it’s what guys do when they can’t get laid,” Izumi bluntly corrects, trying not to think too long and hard about how tight a pair of stupid sweatpants are around his thighs. “And you just got some, so maybe you should call it quits with that kind of stuff, Yuu~kun.” 

“Maybe when--”

Makoto bites his tongue for a moment, but then decides to get a little of his own back. “M-maybe when you let me go all the way, I will.”

Izumi’s mouth opens and shuts, his head whipping around to let him squint at Makoto in the darkness. He’s not sure if Makoto is serious or not—normally, he can tell, but this? “You…you’d actually _want_ to?” 

Makoto shrugs, still avoiding looking Izumi in the eyes. “Who wouldn’t want to? Izumi-san is...really, really beautiful. And you, ah, sorry, but you seem like you’d be really good at it?”

“Every time you call me beautiful, it makes me shivery,” Izumi mutters, rubbing at his bare arms before he glances away again. Word vomit, that’s all he can really do around Makoto, apparently. It’s nothing new, but it’s still stressful. “I’ve only ever been with one guy. But…thanks for thinking I’d be good at it.” 

“I hope that didn’t offend you...” Makoto wrings his hands, annoyed with how difficult it is to explain himself properly. “I’ll let you choose where we go to dinner first?”

“I’m not offended, I’m just…” Izumi shifts restlessly, gnawing on his lower lip. This is too good to be true, honestly; there’s got to be a catch, but _where?_ “Yuu-kun. I’d let you do anything to me. I told you that already.” 

“Ehhh, could you maybe say it different?” Makoto squeaks. “L-like we’re doing it together? I mean, if you want to...do anything. Not like I’m going to hurt you, I hope I won’t...”

Izumi’s lips purse. “I’m not an ero game, you know,” he grumbles, folding his arms across his chest. “I’ll say it how I like. It’s…ugh, fine! If it’s Yuu-kun, he can do anything he wants.”

“Ehhh? Really?” 

Makoto tries to move forward, trips, and flops onto the ground, trying to get back to his feet when his feet are tangled up with discarded clothes. “Ah--Izumi-san, you mean you’d let me? For real?”

“Don’t make me say it again!” Watching Makoto is like watching a trainwreck, and Izumi turns away with a huff. “You heard me, I already let you do things, you should know I’m serious.” 

“As long as you let me kiss you again, I think I’d be happy,” Makoto murmurs, unable to believe his luck. “Ah...but, wait, just--just a minute, you don’t--you--I’m the one who gets to put it in, right?”

“Please stop asking stupid questions.” 

“But--but Izumi-san, I don’t--I’ve--please be gentle, I haven’t done anything like this before...”

Makoto rubs the back of his neck, sitting on the floor, feeling like an idiot loser who ruins everything. “Maybe you should just act like usual and just yell at me and tell me what to do,” he mutters.

“Pass,” Izumi wearily exhales, and he drops down, kneeling in front of Makoto. He hesitates, then reaches out, smoothing Makoto’s hair out of his face with shaky fingers. “I don’t want to do it the other way. So. Yeah. You get to put it in. Happy?” 

Makoto reaches up, catching Izumi’s hand and holding it, not looking up. “As long as you’ll be there, I think I’ll like it,” he says quietly. “I’ll work really hard to make it good for you, Izumi-san.”

It’s some kind of a blessing that the room is so dark, but Izumi is sure that Makoto can still _feel_ how hot his face is right now. Izumi ducks his head, biting down on his lip to keep back a smile. Even if Makoto can’t see it, it’s still ridiculously embarrassing. “…Even if it was awful, it would still be good,” he quietly says. “If it’s with Yuu-kun.” 

Makoto gulps, and brings Izumi’s hand to his mouth, pressing a shy little kiss to the back. “We, ah, don’t have to start that right away, right? Maybe we can like...go to an arcade or something?”

Izumi pauses and steps closer. “That,” he slowly says, “sounds like dating.” 

“Oh.” Makoto nearly flinches away, nearly apologizes, nearly tells him that he hadn’t meant it, he’d just been saying something stupid--but he bites his tongue on that. _Courage, right?_

He squeezes, and says quietly, “I wouldn’t want to do the kinds of things I want to do with you...if I didn’t want to date.”

“…Oh.” Izumi’s heart skips a few beats, he’s pretty sure. “You’re…really? Seriously? Yuu-kun, it’s…it’s okay, you don’t just have to say that to make me happy, honestly.” 

“It’s okay if you don’t want to,” Makoto says quickly. “I mean, I wouldn’t want to date me, heh. If--if this is all you want from me, that’s...I mean, I’d be sad.”

“No, no, Yuu-kun—I really want to,” Izumi hastily says, grabbing hard for both of Makoto’s hands. “I’ve wanted to forever.” Admitting that makes him feel shaky, makes his heart pound, and Izumi exhales a soft breath, glancing down. “But…heh. I really thought you hated me. I just don’t want you to feel like you _have_ to do something like this to please me, you know?” 

“Izumi-san.” Makoto feels his voice grow more firm, and he looks up, squeezing. “You never said you wanted to go out with me, n-not even once! You just said you wanted to live under my bed and help me brush my teeth, who wouldn’t be scared? I totally want to go out with you! I mean, if you’re not doing all the weird stuff.”

“Then you should’ve said so, then I wouldn’t’ve had to be so pushy!” Izumi feels himself close to stomping a foot, but he bites down on the urge, and he huffs instead, still pointedly looking away. “It’s hard to get your attention sometimes, maybe work on that.” 

Makoto bites his lip. _We weren’t really friends_ , he wants to say, but that doesn’t really matter, he thinks. “Your friends love you a lot,” he says instead, voice quiet. “Sakuma-kun told me I was hurting you by ignoring you. I didn’t mean to.”

“Kuma-kun needs to mind his own damned business,” Izumi mumbles, and he steps forward hesitantly before letting his head thump down against Makoto’s shoulder. “Sorry for being like this. I just wanted you to spend time with me like you used to.” 

Makoto slowly extends an arm around Izumi’s waist, tugging him close. “We’re not kids anymore,” he says quietly. “But that’s...that’s okay, isn’t it? And, ah, I don’t really want to be your cute doll of a little brother ever again.”

“I…kinda got that impression, at the Live.” Izumi slumps forward, winding his arms around Makoto. “I get it. I swear I do. Just, uh. Don’t get upset with me if you calling me ‘Onii-chan’ makes me come really fast.” 

Heat flushes through Makoto’s body, and he giggles nervously, butting his head against Izumi’s shoulder. “I mean, everyone has fetishes, right? Ah, don’t make fun of mine either.”

“I don’t even know what yours are,” Izumi grumbles, curling his fingers against Makoto’s back. “But I won’t make fun of you.” 

“You probably will,” Makoto mutters. “Someone as cool and pretty as Izumi-san is definitely just going to think I’m a weird pervert who plays too many H-games!”

“Yuu-kun, if you keep telling me I’m pretty, anything you want will be good, trust me.” 

Makoto blinks. “Is that...something that’s important to you? I thought it was just--kind of obvious, you know? Because you’re so popular as a model and everything...”

Izumi falls silent for a moment, flipping words over in his head to figure out exactly how to explain. _If anyone gets it, it would be Yuu-kun_ , he reminds himself, and he exhales a soft sigh, turning his face into Makoto’s neck. “It doesn’t mean anything when agents and photographers and random people say I’m pretty,” he quietly says. “It only means something if someone like you says it. It…it makes it feel less like…I’m one of the ugliest people, _especially_ if it’s you.” 

Makoto turns suddenly to Izumi, grabbing his shirt with both hands. “Those people’s opinions aren’t important,” he says suddenly, urgently. “The things they say--they want to get into your head, you know? But if people that you love say that you’re beautiful--that means so much more, doesn’t it? Right?”

Izumi blinks back at him, and he doesn’t hesitate before he nods, blinking hard again to keep back the sudden, sharp sting in his eyes. “R-right. Yeah. That’s why Yuu-kun should really listen to me, you know. I think you’re beautiful, so pay attention to that.” 

“I’ll...try.” Makoto catches himself being weird, and slowly releases Izumi’s shirt, rubbing at the back of his neck. “It’s all right as long as it’s Izumi-san saying it.”

“Good. If anyone else says it and makes you feel bad, I’ll cut their head off,” Izumi cheerfully says, clinging to Makoto’s waist. “No one’s allowed to make you feel sad or scared.” 

Makoto pauses. Then he paints on a smile, and rests his head on Izumi’s shoulder. “Then I’m safe, right?”

“I’d do anything to keep you that way.” Izumi buries his face back into Makoto’s shoulder. “So just…let me, okay? Don’t keep stuff from me, Yuu-kun.” 

“There’s nothing to keep from you, Izumi-san.” Makoto squeezes, and daringly presses a little kiss to Izumi’s temple. “We should go to the arcade tonight, if we, uh, ever get out of here.”

“If I ended up stuck in here with Yuu-kun forever, that wouldn’t be _so_ bad.”

“See, that kind of statement? That’s why my friends think you should be in jail.”

“Your friends just don’t understand. You know I’m joking.” 

Izumi’s phone buzzes quietly on the table, and he pulls away, reaching back for it with a sigh.

To: Izumi-chan~

**Everything good? Or do you two need another few minutes before the cavalry comes to rescue you?**

**To: Naru-kun**

**It’s fine now I guess…how long have you been waiting out there??**

**To: Izumi-chan~**

**Since Ritsu-chan flipped off the lights and locked the doors lol**

**To: Naru-kun**

**FUCK both of you I’ll throw you BOTH into the ocean why are you like this you could have warned me I COULD HAVE REALLY MESSED THINGS UP**

“I hate everyone that I know except for you,” Izumi mutters, scowling down at his phone. 

A lock clicks, and light streams into the little storage room. Makoto flinches, squinting in the dim light. “Ah! Izumi-san, I think we’re saved!”

“Makoto-chan,” Arashi responds with a cheerful wink, “your sweatpants are on backwards.”

“Die,” Izumi says with a too-sweet smile, stepping around Makoto to stalk towards Arashi. “You asshole, I’m going to run you through and drop your body right off the docks—“ 

“In those sweatpants?” Arashi teases, hiding a giggle behind his hand. “How ungrateful, I should just let you rot in here.”

“Good, at least I’d rot with Yuu-kun instead of someone like you!” 

“Izumi-san, maybe we can leave instead of rotting?”

“Don’t condemn the poor boy just because you have an awful personality, darling,” Arashi suggests, humming a little as he throws the door wide open. “Makoto-chan, I hope it wasn’t too traumatic for you to be stuck in here with someone so horrible.”

“I don’t think Izumi-san is like that,” Makoto protests, stepping between Arashi and Izumi.

Izumi’s expression shifts quickly from delighted shock to something much more smug, and he leers over Makoto’s shoulder to stare back at Arashi. “See? Yuu-kun doesn’t think I’m horrible. Yuu-kun, Yuu-kun, you still wanted to go to the arcade, right?” 

“Mm!” Makoto bobs his head in relief, clinging to Izumi’s arm. “Ah, but if you wanted to invite your friend, I don’t mind...” _Please don’t please don’t please don’t--_

“Ah! Please, Izumi-chan, I’ve got to watch this in person.”

Having Arashi around for any sort of moral support would be nice, but he’d be a fucking idiot if he didn’t feel how Makoto immediately tensed with the idea. “No way, get your own date,” Izumi sniffs, rubbing firmly up against Makoto’s side, much like a too-affectionate cat. “And tell Kuma-kun to stop meddling, you two are the worst.” 

“I’ll pretend you said ‘thank you’ instead of being an asshole,” Arashi says with a roll of his eyes, bowing deeply as he holds open the door. “I won’t come, fine. But what arcade are you going to? You know, just in case Makoto-chan goes missing and they need to know his last known whereabouts.”

Izumi scowls at Arashi before releasing Makoto’s arm and giving him a little shove forward out the door. “Go on, I’ll meet you at the end of the docks, all right? I have to tell this asshole off for a second.” 

“Ah, all right!” Makoto hurries away, and Arashi moves, folding his arms in front of his chest with a wink.

“So,” he asks, as soon as Makoto’s out of earshot, “looks like it worked, huh?”

Izumi feels like he’s vibrating out of his skin, and that manifests into nearly bursting into tears when he finally says, “He wants to _date me._ ” 

Arashi reaches over, tousling Izumi’s hair. “Apparently Ritsu-chan heard from his little Trickstar pet that Makoto-chan wanted to talk to you. I guess this is what he meant, hmm? Are you a happy girl?”

“D-don’t say it like that, I’m so horny right now,” Izumi hisses through his teeth, his face flushing hot in a way that he _really_ hates. “I’m going to fuck every single part of this up. Naru-kun, throw me into the ocean.” 

“I will literally kill you myself if you don’t go on a date with that cheeto-scented nerd,” Arashi says, voice low and very intent, eyes flashing. “After _months_ of putting us through hell because of this crush, you are going to that arcade if I have to carry you princess-style.”

“He’s not cheeto-scented, not right _now,”_ Izumi bemoans, wiping a hand down his face. “I’m going, I’m _going_ , but if you have any advice about not being a total creep and ruining everything, now’s the time I’ll actually listen.” 

“Ooh, yeah, I’ve got you!” 

Arashi pulls out his phone, and flips through several saved articles, evaluating them for relevance. “I’m gonna text you my favorite Cosmo dating advice of all time, okay? Look at it in the bathroom if things are going bad. Ahh, make sure you ask about him, not just say what you think he wants to hear. And don’t be pushy, don’t order his wine for him--I mean, I guess that doesn’t really matter, but don’t try to play his game for him or whatever, you’re such a control freak.”

“I don’t even want to go to the arcade, so I’m definitely not playing his games. Maybe he’ll be cute and win me something out of a UFO catcher…but I wish he’d just take me home and make out with me,” Izumi grouses. He pauses, then leans in closer, his stare intent. “His dick is _so_ much bigger than I thought it would be.” 

“Ehh? Seriously?” Arashi shakes his head, mystified. “Would not have called that.Hey, if you’re going to his place, you need to borrow anything? Assuming he lets you actually do stuff?”

“ _He’s_ the one that brought up going all the way. Doubt that’s happening tonight, though, so don’t worry about it.” Izumi heaves a sigh. “Whatever. Thanks, Naru-kun.” 

Arashi pats him on the shoulder. “It’s probably for the best that you’re going without protection,” he assures Izumi. “Like not shaving your legs on the first date, you know? It gives you an excuse not to be a slut. That’s the second article I sent you, page nine.”

“I always shave my legs, that’s irrelevant,” Izumi grumps, but he nods, straightening up and steeling himself. “You better stay available via text. I really don’t want to fuck this up.” 

“I am honestly expecting you to fuck this up,” Arashi says lightly. “But look at it this way, he’s probably expecting you to fuck it up, too. So all you have to do is not fuck it up more than he expects!”

“I hate you so much sometimes, I want you to know that.” 

“I mean, that’s fair, but please also consider I’m a reason you have a date with your stalkee.”

Izumi swiftly turns his back on Arashi, beelining for where his sixth Yuu-kun sense claims Makoto has gone. “Yeah, yeah, whatever. Talk to you later, Naru-kun.”

~

Five minutes into their arcade date, with his hand nervously resting next to Izumi’s on the handle of the crane game, Makoto resolves to never tell the rest of Trickstar about this. They wouldn’t understand how fun and gentle Izumi is when he’s not stressing, and it would just make them worry about something they don’t get.

Twenty minutes in, with Izumi’s arm casually linked through his while they look around at dance games that he pretends not to want to try, he’s not sure how he’ll ever be able to keep quiet about it.

An hour in, looking in dismay at their photo booth pics, both of them attempting model poses and then scrunching up their faces in frustration, Makoto stops caring what his friends will think. They’ve never tried to kiss him in a photo booth, after all.

That last strip, with him planting a kiss on Izumi’s lips in one frame, Izumi looking startled in the next, blushing and turning away in the final frame, is something Makoto now has tucked into his pass case, dangling from his pocket, picture side faced away from the transparent side, the memory only for him. His thumb traces over it on the train ride to his mother’s apartment, Izumi’s hair occasionally brushing against his cheek. “It’s a pretty good day, right, Izumi-san?” 

Izumi doesn’t respond, and Makoto gives him a gentle nudge with his shoulder. “I mean, after getting unlocked?”

No response. Then it dawns on Makoto, as the train rattles loudly, that Izumi is actually _asleep_ on his shoulder. He pulls out his phone, carefully so as not to wake Izumi, and uses the selfie camera as a mirror. Yep, that’s Izumi’s sleeping face, all right. The train jolts again, and his finger slips, snapping a selfie by accident. The sound of the shutter sounds unbearably loud on the quiet train, and Makoto winces, waiting for Izumi to wake up and call him a pervert for taking pictures of his sleeping face.

Izumi doesn’t even shift, let alone wake. It’s not until the train rolls to a jerky stop and a veritable rush of people brush against his knee as they exit that he stirs, groggily shifting and cracking his eyes open just in time to see Makoto hurrying to put his phone away. Too sleepy to care, Izumi snuggles closer, blissfully uncaring of their surroundings. “Yuu-kun, you’re so warm,” he murmurs. 

“Ah...Izumi-san, you’ve been asleep for a while,” Makoto murmurs, trying to keep his knees away from people crowding onto the train with limited success. “Next stop is ours, you can rest on me all you want at my place, okay?”

“Mm, Yuu-kun has to be my pillow forever.” Izumi winds his arm around Makoto’s and snuggles pointedly against him. “Get strong enough to princess carry me up to your apartment, so then I can keep sleeping…” 

“W-wouldn’t that look pretty strange?” Makoto asks, smiling a little. “Izumi-san isn’t that short...everyone would think you were sick, or hurt.”

“Good. They’d think you were being all manly, taking care of me like that.” Izumi stifles a yawn into Makoto’s shoulder. “Kuma-kun’s boytoy carries him around, it’s cute…” 

“Isara-kun, you mean?” Makoto sighs. “I hope to be that kind of a reliable person, someday. He’s really very impressive. Ah, Izumi-san, this is our stop...can you stand at all?”

_No_ , Izumi wants to say, in hopes Makoto does try to carry him, but he’s vaguely aware of Makoto’s limitations, and uninterested in embarrassing either of them, besides. He grunts an affirmative, hauling himself up onto wobbly legs with some effort, and drags himself off of the train, bleary-eyed and shaky. “I want Yuu-kun’s bed,” he grumpily says. 

“Izumi-san is an unexpectedly big baby,” Makoto teases. He maneuvers both of them through the turnstile, then wraps Izumi’s arm around his shoulders, his own around Izumi’s waist. He’s uncomfortably aware of the prickle of eyes around them, many of whom know him from long ago, but he ignores it as best he can. “Sorry, it’s not that close to the station...I don’t know if you remember where I live, but don’t worry! I’ll lead you, just...rely on me.”

“I’m still jetlagged, be nice to me,” Izumi bemoans, clinging tightly to Makoto’s arm and letting himself be guided along. “I just want your soft bed that smells like nothing but Yuu-kun…then I’ll be revived and can wake up feeling back to normal later…” 

“I’m not sure my bed is really that soft,” Makoto warns. “It’s also not that big, you know...ah, you haven’t been to my new place much, it’s a lot smaller than the one you probably remember best.”

“It’s good that it’s small, then we can be all cozy. Don’t ruin this,” Izumi warns in turn. “Just let me dream. I’m tired and really want to cuddle.” He’s tired enough to be honest about that, Makoto should appreciate it.

“Even if I only had a child-sized futon, I’d still want to cuddle with Izumi-san on it,” Makoto says truthfully, tugging gently on a lock of Izumi’s hair. His thumb brushes over his pass case, where he knows their cute selfies are hiding. “Ah...maybe if I’d stayed a model I’d be rich, and you could come over to my fancy apartment with silk sheets or something.”

_You wouldn’t be rich, your mom would’ve hoarded all of it,_ Izumi wearily bites back. His hands just tighten on Makoto’s arm, gently squeezing. “Doesn’t matter. Silk sheets are actually pretty scratchy.” 

“Heh, of course someone fancy like you would know,” Makoto says with a laugh. “Well, then it’s good, right? Then you can experience the magic of cheap cotton that’s been washed too many times, it’ll be real fun. Um, I’ll probably need to run in ahead of you and clean up a little first, you can just curl up on the couch for a minute.”

“It’s covered in snacks, isn’t it.” Izumi suppresses another yawn. “Is your mom going to be home?” 

Makoto shakes his head. “She’s got a new boyfriend. He took her to meet his parents this weekend, so I’ve got it to myself for a while. That’ll be nice, right? Ah...if you don’t want to see snacks...I’ve been in the house by myself for a while, so you might want to wait in the outside hallway for a minute....”

Izumi’s lips purse to keep back a horde of snippy replies to that, but he stamps them down, both because he’s too tired, and because he _really_ just wants to cuddle. Doing that with a tense, unhappy Makoto isn’t going to be any fun. “I’ll deep clean your entire apartment before she gets home, don’t worry about it,” he murmurs, shoving his face into Makoto’s shoulder. “I just want to lie down. And fall asleep with you petting me. Yuu-kun, spoil me.” 

“What...kind of spoiling does Izumi-san want?” Makoto asks, turning down the alley that leads to his building, face flushing at the idea of neighbors seeing him. Well, what are they going to do, tell his mother? She would be happy he’s spending time with Izumi again. “If it’s something I can do...you’re as cute as a kid when you want something, you know?”

“I’m not a kid, but you can call me cute more.” Izumi glances up, enough to recognize his surroundings—he’d be a liar to say this place isn’t burned into his memory. “I don’t need anything special,” he murmurs. “I just like the idea of falling asleep next to you. Ugh, don’t make me say more than that, it’s super embarrassing.” 

Makoto doesn’t speak for a moment, but turns to butt his face against Izumi’s shoulder. “I don’t think it’s embarrassing,” he says quietly. “I have a few cam rips of new movies, if you wanna watch them in my room? That sounds...really nice, you know...”

“Mm. That’s fine, but don’t get mad if I doze off.” Izumi lets himself be pulled to the apartment building, and detaches himself from Makoto enough that anyone that could potentially see them isn’t too curious. “I’ll charge my phone up so I can text my mom and let her know I’m spending the night. Otherwise, she’ll file a missing person report.” 

“Th-that would be no good!” Makoto squeaks, ducking his face away. He pulls out his key, turns it in the lock while entering his passcode, and nods at Izumi, leading him into the elevator. “It’s slow, sorry,” he says, as the elevator grinds into action, laboriously lighting up the first floor light.

Izumi’s expression is sort of vaguely amused at this point, and he slumps back against the elevator wall, watching Makoto with lidded eyes. “Next time, you can come to my house. It’s been a long time, hasn’t it?” 

“Mm, yeah.” Makoto tries to remember the last time he’d been to Izumi’s house, as the elevator slowly clunks up to the second floor. “I think the last time was...first year, in middle school, right? You had that sleepover for everyone in the cereal commercial and everyone else went home early, right?”

Izumi cringes, that memory decidedly vivid. “Yeah, something like that. Yuu-kun was the only one that liked me, heh.” His mouth twists into a wry smile. “Unsurprising. I was even brattier back then.” 

“They were just jealous because you were better than them at everything,” Makoto says. “I didn’t mind being worse than you, because you always helped me, you know?” The elevator finally clicks up to 3, then stops, a full few seconds of silence falling before the doors crank open and Makoto steps out, breathing a sigh of relief. “I hate that thing.”

“Why does it do that?” Izumi complains, shoving off of the wall and latching back to Makoto’s arm, nuzzling his face into his shoulder. “Nnn, Yuu-kun, I’m sleepy. You have to think of ways to keep me up long enough to text my mom or I’ll die.” 

“Eh? I thought you wanted to fall asleep.” Makoto twists his key in the lock a few times, then drives his shoulder into the door to open it properly. “I’m home,” he calls, knowing there will be no response but sighing in relief anyway. “You can charge your phone in my room, there’s a million power strips. And if you fall asleep, I’ll text your mom.”

“You’re a good boy,” Izumi says around a yawn, and then promptly wraps both arms around Makoto’s waist from behind, his face directly nuzzling into his neck. “But you can still be sweet and cuddle me, right? And maybe kiss me until I fall asleep, mmm?” 

“If I’m kissing you, isn’t there no way you’ll fall asleep?” Makoto asks, laughing a little at himself. He squeezes Izumi’s hand, tugging him towards the couch and flopping down with him in tow. “Ah, honestly, just let me clean up in there a little bit first, please...”

“Fiiine, fine.” Izumi flops down, snuggling up around a pillow. He vaguely takes in the mess of the apartment, but there’s not much he wants to do about that right now. When he wakes up, he can go on the warpath and tear the entire place apart and scrub it clean. “But don’t keep me waiting for too long, or I’ll be cranky. I’ll clean your room for you later, just make sure the bed’s okay.”

“O-okay!”

Just the thought of _the bed_ when said in Izumi’s husky tone is enough to put some spring in Makoto’s step. He grabs a trash bag on his way in, and hurriedly stuffs the worst of the mess into it, chip and candy wrappers making up the bulk of it, used tissues and discarded game packaging the rest. Some of the clothes he kicks under the bed, the others he just leaves, making sure the bed at least is made. Last, he grabs a bottle of febreze and sprays the whole room liberally, until he can’t smell anything he’d consider gross. Perfect. “Izumi-saaaan! You can come in now!”

Izumi hauls himself up to his feet, making his way down the short, narrow hallway by memory alone. It’s been forever since he’s been here, but that doesn’t stop him from knowing the way, and padding his way into Makoto’s…well, it’s not _as_ messy as Izumi expected it to be, but it smells distinctly of _boy_ , and air freshener. _Good enough for now._ He’d be a liar if the former didn’t turn him on, just a little. “Looks about the same, except for more video games,” he says, and neatly topples his way into bed, stretching out immediately. “Yuu-kun’s so predictable, hmm? That’s cute.” 

“Do you...want to see some of my new games?” Makoto asks, a bit hopefully. It’s all he can really think of to talk about, now that they’re in the quiet of his room. “Or, I’ve got a bunch of new movies, my data got bumped up due to company error so I downloaded a whole bunch last week.”

“If you play, I’ll watch,” Izumi offers uncaringly, fishing out his phone and leaning off the side of the bed to plug it into one of—indeed— _several_ power strips. “Until I pass out, at any rate. But you’re obligated to let me lay in your lap while you play.” 

Makoto is already turning on his console, flopping down and patting one of his thighs. “I’ve got Dragon Quest Heroes II,” he brags, much more at ease when talking about something he knows a lot about. It’s why the arcade had been so much fun, when he’d managed to win Izumi prizes. “Have you played it yet? I don’t want to spoil you.”

“I don’t really play, that’s your thing.” Izumi crawls his way over and flops down, content to drape himself against Makoto, head against his thigh. “But I don’t mind watching. Yuu-kun’s cute when he’s _really_ excited about things.”

Makoto flushes slightly, and tugs on one strand of Izumi’s hair. “Text your mom,” he reminds him, waiting for the title screen to fade. “I’ve already done the main story, I’m just trying to get costumes now. Here, let me show you how cool my party looks right now.”

Izumi rolls away with an unhappy grumble, scooping up his phone. 

 

To: Mama

**Staying over at Naru-kun’s house tonight. See you in the morning.**

 

He swiftly turns his screen off before Makoto can see that, and tucks his phone back underneath the bed. “Mm, very fancy,” he drawls, draping himself back across Makoto’s lap. “Yuu-kun’s a real nerd sometimes, but I think that’s cute, too.”

“Izumi-san calls me a nerd a lot of the time,” Makoto says with a sigh. “But other people do that too, I guess. Oogami-san does it a lot. Ah, here, this is my party, don’t they look awesome? I’ll show you my favorite place to grind.”

“Who calls you that? I’ll kick his ass.” Izumi idly slides a finger underneath Makoto’s shirt, dragging it along the jut of his hip. “Here’s _my_ favorite place to grind. Heh, well, not entirely true, but close enough.” 

Makoto’s breath sharpens in his throat. “I-Izumi-san...I can’t play if you’re going to behave like that...” He feels his skin tighten, and flicks his game onto ‘pause’ almost immediately. “Are you not sleepy? Do you...would you touch it?” Too eager, probably, and really gross, but it isn’t like he gets someone else to touch it all that often.

Izumi’s eyes flick up, staring up at Makoto through his lashes before he idly thumbs at the waistband of his sweatpants. “Do you want me to put my mouth on it?” he asks, almost casually. “Maybe I’m awake enough for that…”

Makoto can suddenly hear his own heartbeat. If he hadn’t been sitting down, it would have been a quick motion. As it is, he hears blood rush in his ears, flowing south so fast he feels dizzy. “Um, y-yes? Yes, I definitely, of course, that would be...so good?”

Izumi licks his lips, his fingers sliding further south to idly trail over the hard line of Makoto’s cock through his pants. This absolutely should be something he can only dream about, but instead…he can feel exactly how hard Makoto is, how his pulse is pounding through his cock, and Izumi shifts, wriggling closer. “You can keep playing your game,” he murmurs, glancing up to catch Makoto’s gaze again. “If you want.”

Makoto swallows so hard it sounds like a gulp from the movies, he thinks. Slowly, his hand reaches up, threading through Izumi’s soft hair, petting him gently as if trying to believe this is actually still real. How could someone so pretty be touching him like _that?_ Every brush of Izumi’s fingers and palm feel like searing heat, dragging along the length of his swiftly hardening cock through his borrowed sweatpants, and Makoto can hardly breathe. “Izumi-san...” he breathes, eyes dilated. “I thought you wanted to be spoiled...”

“This is spoiling me.” Izumi’s breath hitches as he tugs down the waistband of Makoto’s sweatpants, just enough to pull his cock free with trembling fingers. It’s one thing to feel it rubbing against his hip, but to actually _hold it_ —it’s as big as he’d guessed, and heavy and thick in his palm, and Izumi can’t resist leaning forward, the flat of his tongue dragging over the head of Makoto’s cock. 

_Don’t come just from that, don’t come just from that, don’t--_

Makoto whimpers in a way that probably isn’t sexy at all, and his hands curl in Izumi’s hair, tighter than he’d meant to. “Please,” he groans, hips twitching as he tries not to thrust up. This, more than anything else, doesn’t feel real. The familiar room feels too bright, the colors off as his brain shuts down, the texture of Izumi’s hair too-soft against his fingers. _When did I last take a shower?_ he wonders wildly, hoping he hadn’t skipped a day during Starmine, but Izumi--lovely, pretty, finicky, clean freak Izumi--doesn’t seem unhappy, so he must not have, he hopes. “I-Izumi-san, your...you feel so...ahhhhh...”

Makoto tastes sharp and salty on his tongue, and the bitterness makes Izumi groan, that much more eager to taste more. His lips part and his mouth sinks down, wrapping around the head of Makoto’s cock and sucking it further into his mouth. 

Between his legs, his own cock throbs, and Izumi shudders, lapping hungrily at Makoto’s cock as he swallows him down. His tongue runs nearly from root to tip, and having Makoto’s cock that far down his throat at least stifles the noises he’s making, soft and overeager. 

“I’m--ahhh, Oniichan, I--I’ll make it up to you later,” Makoto grunts, losing the last of the control he’d had, grabbing Izumi’s hair and yanking his head down. That sudden added wet heat, the slight friction against the sensitive head of his cock, makes him squirm where he sits, toes curling, eyes rolling back into his head, glasses knocked to the side when he comes. It feels like a rising tide of pleasure around his feet, suddenly swamping him from head to toe, drowning him as he spills into Izumi’s mouth in shaking, sudden spurts.

Izumi jerks against the hold once as he frantically swallows, struggling not to gag. The taste is heavy on his tongue, and Makoto comes a _lot_ more than he expects, coating his tongue and making him swallow audibly as he desperately tries not to make a mess. 

Makoto’s hand is still firm in his hair, and Izumi sucks in a ragged, desperate breath through his nose, his eyes watering and cheeks flushed as he reaches up, grabbing for Makoto’s wrist with shaky fingers. 

“Izumi-san...sorry...” It feels kind of weird to apologize when Izumi had obviously enjoyed the experience, but for being so rude, Makoto can hardly do otherwise. His hands are shaky in Izumi’s hair as the colors slowly start to return to his vision, the sweat starting to cool on the back of his neck. “Ah...that was...the best thing that’s ever happened to me, I think...oh, god, do you want me to do it to you?” The thought is terrifying, but how can he refuse?

Izumi pulls back slowly, licking his lips, wiping his mouth gingerly. “No,” he breathes, pulling himself up and into Makoto’s lap, nuzzling his face directly into his neck. “Just—mm, will you touch it? I’m already so close, just from being able to taste you…” 

The idea that someone, anyone, let alone someone so lovely, would have any kind of _positive_ reaction to tasting something like that--

The words make Makoto shiver, and another spurt comes out before he can even put a hand up to it, staining Izumi’s borrowed sweatpants. “S-sorry,” Makoto says, already reaching his hand under Izumi’s waistband. He steels himself, hoping it won’t feel too weird. 

Fortunately, it’s not nearly as weird as he’d been expecting. It’s just a penis, after all, he tells himself in relief, curling his hand around the curvy length. Carefully, he eases the waistband down, taking a good look. “Izumi-san, it’s really cute,” he murmurs without thinking about it.

“S-shut up, don’t say stuff like that,” Izumi manages to gasp out, his face flushing as he arches closer, rubbing into Makoto’s hand. At least Makoto hasn’t stripped him or anything—he can’t see anything Izumi doesn’t want him to see, and if Makoto thinks his dick is _cute…_ well, there are worst things. His cock twitches hard, dripping over Makoto’s fingers, and Izumi’s teeth nip into the lobe of Makoto’s ear with his next hard huff of breath. “Your h-hand is…really warm…nn, Yuu~kun…”

“I-Izumi-san, if you keep doing that, I’m gonna get hard again,” Makoto groans, letting his fingers curl, starting to stroke the way he likes to do it on himself--only with the fingers a lot closer together, and not stroking nearly as far. He watches Izumi’s face, mesmerized by the changing facial expressions, almost enchanted by the way Izumi scrunches up his face, squeezing his eyes shut, flushing deeply. “A-ah, maybe I will just from watching you...it’s already so wet here...”

Izumi swallows audibly, his fingers clutching at Makoto’s shoulders as he lurches forward with a last, ragged whimper, and spills over Makoto’s fingers with a hard, throbbing twitch. It’s a slow, lingering orgasm, one that makes him shiver and ache, wriggling close into Makoto’s lap, heaving out a breathy sigh of satisfaction. “Yuu-kun’s so good at that,” he sighs, mouthing another kiss to Makoto’s neck, then a lingering, sucking bite. “Mmm, I knew you’d spoil me…” 

Makoto is fairly certain that he’s the one being spoiled, but that’s not exactly a point he really wants to push right now. Instead, he presses a kiss to Izumi’s hair, then lets his hand travel slowly around, squeezing the supple curve of his ass. “You look like a girl here,” he blurts out. “In--in a good way. A r-really attractive way.”

Izumi mulls that over in his head for a moment and decides it’s a compliment, more or less. “Of course that’s what Yuu-kun likes,” he murmurs, snuggling against him and sucking on the lobe of his ear. “Curl up with me, now I’m really sleepy.” 

Makoto attempts to maneuver him into a better position, then gives up and flops down next to him, letting his playstation turn off automatically. “Izumi-san is a pretty cute boyfriend,” he murmurs, burying his face in his hair, spooning up behind him. “When he wants to be.”

“I’m always cute,” Izumi grumbles, stretching back out against Makoto with a content little noise. Ideally, Makoto is the big spoon. Yes, this is exactly what he wants. “If you get hard when you wake up, you can just rub it on me,” he idly suggests, mostly to see what Makoto’s reaction will be. 

There’s a hiccup in Makoto’s breath, and then he gets himself under control. “Uh...what if...it’s already...” He shifts, proving his point against the back of Izumi’s thigh.

_Just put it in_ is the first thought that comes to Izumi’s mind, but he stamps that down when the amount of work required isn’t exactly appealing. “You’re really fast about that, huh?” he sighs, and tugs a blanket over them as he starts kicking off his sweatpants entirely. “Slide it between my thighs or something, you can get off like that.” 

“Oh my god.”

The words are hushed like Izumi had suggested something reverent, and Makoto just squeezes him for a minute, yanking him back into a full-bodied embrace. “Izumi-san...Onii-chan is going to take care of me now, right?” The words come easier when he’s this hard, and he eases down the back of Izumi’s sweatpants, reaching a hand down to try and guide himself. “Ahh, just--help me put it where it’s supposed to go, I’ve never...”

Izumi’s mouth just falls open for a moment, the sudden, sharp rush of arousal that rakes down his spine making his toes curl. He reaches back, his fingers shaking, overeager as he grabs for Makoto’s cock, shifting to part his thighs and guide that thick cock between them. “Just…ah…tell me, if it’s good, or…” Izumi licks his lips, wriggling back and squeezing his thighs together gently. 

Makoto’s eyes squeeze shut, lost temporarily in bliss when Izumi squeezes around him like that. He curses under his breath, then starts rocking in, panting into Izumi’s shoulder. “Please don’t kill me,” he groans, “but you’re so soft here, I’d live between your thighs if I could...Ahhhh, I’m going to die...”

Anyone else saying that, and Izumi probably _would_ kill them. It’s Makoto, though, and that makes Izumi shudder and bury his face down into the mattress, his fingers fisting into the sheets as he just lets Makoto fuck in between his thighs. He can feel Makoto’s cock throbbing, dripping over his skin, and Izumi’s own cock twitches. “D-don’t die, I like you too much,” he gasps, reaching up to absently tweak one of his own nipples. “Yuu-kun, you’re perfect…”

Makoto’s eyes dart down, not missing the shift, or the motion. His hand comes up, first resting over Izumi’s, then moving it to the side. “D-does...does Izumi-san like...having...” He can hardly say the words, his cock growing so hard it hurts, hips bucking up between Izumi’s thighs so hard that slapping sounds fill the room. “D-do you like having your, your chest played with?”

Izumi’s breath catches hard as he sags back against Makoto, relenting to the fingers on his nipples, the cock between his thighs. He nods, entirely unable to form words for a moment, and his cock gives a weak, trembling little spurt, dripping onto the sheets. “E…especially…when Yuu-kun does it,” he whispers, his eyes fluttering shut. He deliberately squeezes his thighs around Makoto’s cock as he feels him thrusting harder, his breath hiccuping in his chest. 

“I-Izumi-san, if you do that, I’ll--”

Before Makoto can apologize for his hair trigger, he’s spilling, reveling in the new slickness between Izumi’s thighs, groaning at the sweet warmth squeezing him. His hands might pinch too hard, thumbs and forefingers gripping Izumi’s nipples, face buried in his upper back. “S-sorry, the second time is usually...really fast...”

Izumi bites down on a yelp, jerking against the touch on his chest, almost trying to squirm away, but only ending up squirming into the touch instead. He gasps and reaches back, grabbing helplessly for one of Makoto’s arms, his nails biting into his skin, clinging to him as he feels Makoto’s cock pulse and twitch between his thighs. “You come so _much_ , Yuu-kun,” he breathes, his eyelashes fluttering. 

“Is it...not a normal amount?” Makoto pants, wrapping his arms around Izumi’s waist, feeling delightfully floaty. “I’ve never, uh, studied the difference between guys, you know...”

“At some point, I’m gonna have to measure it,” Izumi dreamily says, his head flopping down onto the bed. “For calories.”

“....What?”

“Mm. If I’m going to give you blowjobs, I need to know how many calories it is.”

“Is--is there some kind of lab that you send that kind of thing to?” Makoto asks, incredulous.

“I’ve got a guy. Don’t worry, you can just come in a condom at some point and I can take that, it’ll be really easy.”

Makoto relaxes. “Ah, I thought you were going to drag me to a scary science place...I’m not good with any kind of physical test...”

“No, I wouldn’t do that, no one’s allowed to touch you,” Izumi dismissively says, and tips his head back to plant a kiss underneath Makoto’s chin. He pauses, then says, far more quietly, “Your bed’s a lot more comfortable than you think, Yuu-kun.”

“I think...it’s only good because someone I care about is in it,” Makoto replies, not meeting Izumi’s eyes. “I think I’d like being anywhere if we could be like this.”

“Then at some point, we should leave and go to Spain,” Izumi sleepily says, shutting his eyes as he settles down, for once unconcerned about going to bed sweaty and sticky. That can be dealt with in the morning. “Get your passport and come with me.” 

“Mm, all right.” Makoto would probably have agreed to take Izumi to the moon right now. He’s not nearly as sleepy as Izumi...

Or so he thinks, before he blanks out so fast he doesn’t even feel his head hit the pillow, chest nestled against Izumi’s back.

**Author's Note:**

> I just want to thank everyone who commented on our last MakoIzu fic! If it weren't for you guys, we wouldn't have written more.


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